


Impossible Happiness

by MelyndaR



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Multi, Polyamory, Triadverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelyndaR/pseuds/MelyndaR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock doesn't realize just how lucky he is to have Molly until she makes reality of an arrangement that he had thought impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossible Happiness

Sherlock is a _knight._ It can’t be helped that he spends time with his squire, John. What could, he supposes, be helped – _if he wished it to be stopped, that is, but he doesn’t_ – is the way he has come to love John. It’s more than the simple way every night needs a squire. John has become wholly and completely necessary to Sherlock’s life without him even noticing it. Until he does notice.

Well. Sort of.

It’s not that _he_ exactly notices, it’s that Molly – his silly, stupid princess of a _betrothed_ – notices, and unfailingly gives him an earful about it. For a woman of the royal court, she’s quite always blunt with him, a fact that Sherlock’s pompous older brother shamelessly delights in.

When she’s said her piece, Sherlock waves his hand towards Molly’s ladies maid, who’s been hovering uselessly near the doorway, and the other woman takes Molly away. Free from her presence, Sherlock promptly rolls his eyes and spreads even more languidly across the settee he’d been sharing with her.

From his own seat nearer the fireplace, Mycroft, having overheard the entire little speech asks idly, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Do about what?” Sherlock asks irritably, only barely bothering to hear his brother’s question.

Mycroft has to twist all but around the back of his chair to meet Sherlock’s eyes, but he does it, gaze filled with something like impatient disgust as he asks, “Did you even listen to a word she said?”

“She was talking about John.”

“Did you hear what she was saying _about_ John?” Mycroft asks, his patience growing even thinner.

Sherlock shrugs, staring at the ceiling carelessly instead of meeting his brother’s gaze. “No, not really.”

Mycroft, to his credit, does not raise his voice. He sighs, dropping his head into his hands for a long minute, and his voice, in fact, goes softer, which is somehow just as bad as it getting louder, as he asks, “Do you understand how lucky you are, brother mine?”

“How so?”

“Molly,” Mycroft reminds him succinctly. “Is a princess, and, quite frankly, above your station. You, in _so_ many ways, are not worthy of her. The only reason you have her is because she _asked_ after you personally. Gods know why, but she did. She loves you, she’s chosen you, and that conversation that you so _thoroughly_ ignored was her asking what you thought of making your little squire your third.”

Sherlock bolts upright, head whipping to look at his brother as he asks with drawn eyebrows, “She wants to make John our third?”

“That is very much what she said, yes.”

“But why?” Sherlock asks in confusion, trying to puzzle it all out. “That just doesn’t make sense.”

Because Mycroft is right; Sherlock is below Molly’s station. In the normal way of things, Molly will marry Sherlock, yes, but also another man who’s equal to her in rank. Molly and the other man will be the one to bear children, continue on the royal lineage and such, and Sherlock will be a pretty thing to appear on their metaphorical arm and keep his husband or Molly happy when their third cannot be bothered with domesticity.

In his own way, Sherlock has decided that he’s happy with the idea of this arrangement, as it will ultimately leave him more time for his own work. Besides that, being the “head husband” has always seemed like more… well, _work_ than he would consider it to be worth. But if Mycroft is right about what his princess was suggesting, than that’s exactly what he would be… wouldn’t he? Because John _is_ lower than him in rank.

 _Which is why it’s a silly idea to begin with,_ he realizes. Molly’s higher ranking than them both. In order to preserve her own rightful standing in society, she will need a husband who’s her equal in rank. _Marrying John would never happen_.

Sherlock is surprised by – and then pointedly ignores – the stab of disappointment he feels at that last thought.

He pulls himself out of his own head just in time to hear Mycroft declare dryly, “She suggested it because she _cares_ about you, Sherlock! She sees how you care for John, and she wants to give you that happiness if she can.”

“Well, she can’t,” Sherlock says firmly, standing up and sweeping out of the room, leaving Mycroft to mutter exasperated obscenities to the fireplace.

* * *

 

The clang of metal on metal and the occasional grunt of a man being struck echoes through the training ground; they’re surrounded on all sides by battling duos, but here and now Sherlock has eyes for only John as his squire unleashes a particularly well-aimed thrust upon the brunette’s neck. He barely dodges the blow, laughing as he hears air rush past his ear when the thrust is rendered useless, and calls out, “Very good, John! One might almost believe you wanted to harm me.”

“There are days,” John replies above the ever-present din.

Sherlock smiles, but isn’t given time to reply.

“Sir?” a nervously twittering little errand boy is standing as close to the edge of the practice ground as he can manage while trying to catch Sherlock and John’s attention. When he has that much, he declares – _his very_ bearing _a pathetic apology,_ Sherlock thinks dismissively – “Princess Molly would like to see you.”

Sherlock stifles a groan at the interruption and hands John his sword, telling the boy, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Sorry, sir,” the child stammers. “Not- that is- the princess wishes to see your squire, sir.” The boy’s eyes flicker to John as he informs him, “It sounds important. I believe she has a proposition for you.”

“’Proposition’?” the two men repeat together.

“Ye gods,” Sherlock murmurs under his breath, so that only John can hear. “She did it, didn’t she? She’s actually done it, the fantastic woman!”

“What on earth has she done, Sherlock?” John asks in confusion.

But Sherlock is suddenly bursting with excitement, with the need to _know_ if he’s _right_. Because if he is… “Ye gods, I love Molly!” Sherlock declares, and it’s something of a shock to his system to realize that it’s the truth. Finally it strikes him just how much _more_ she is, how fiercely _determined_ and _wonderful_. He grabs John’s hand and pulls him back towards the castle proper, in a rush to see her.

John stumbles until he catches up with Sherlock, asking, “What is happening, Sherlock?”

“I,” Sherlock says succinctly, sheer joy rushing through him. “Am realizing just how _incredibly_ lucky I am to have you and Molly.”

“Well, as nice as that sounds,” John says, jogging alongside the knight. “I don’t think our relationships are exactly comparable.”

Molly meets them at the castle doorway, in time to hear John’s remark, and she’s smiling carefully at the two men as she asks, “What if they could be comparable?”

It takes John a second to realize just what the princess is proposing, but when understanding dawns, his eyes go very wide. A slow smile grows on his face as he looks between Sherlock and Molly, saying, “Yes!” to the question that hasn’t even properly been asked.

Sherlock and Molly both beam at John, and Sherlock is uncharacteristically speechless, overcome at the idea of being granted a wish so deeply buried he hadn’t even truly allowed himself to acknowledge it. He loves Molly, he sees that now – in a flash he has recalled all the times she’s been fierce and determined and brilliant, and wonders how he ever could’ve thought her boring – and he rather wants to get to know her better, to mine the treasure-trove of a fiancée that he has. But he loves John too, and that, he thinks, he has always known in the deepest corners of himself. But now – now he can say all of this aloud if he so chooses, and because of that, he finds himself ironically speechless.

“Sherlock?” he realizes suddenly that Molly has laid a hand on his arm, two concerned sets of eyes watching him.

John asks “Are you well?”

“I thought you would be happy,” Molly says worriedly. “I thought this is what you wanted. Was I wrong? I-“

John talks over her, rude but insistent, as he orders Sherlock, “Say something.”

“You’re right,” Sherlock says instinctively, to Molly, before his mind is fully functioning again. But then he’s back at himself, and says, “My brilliant, wonderful, fantastic Molly, you’re so right – about everything. I daresay you know me better than I know myself, perhaps.”

“Oh, we do,” Molly agrees, including John in her remark as she all but sags against Sherlock in relief.

He pulls her to him without a word, placing a thoroughly indecent kiss upon her lips before he murmurs gratefully, “Thank you.”

Then it strikes him, what Mycroft had said before: Molly loves Sherlock – and Sherlock thinks to wonder then… Does Molly love John? Her body still flush against the sweltering chainmail that he’s wearing, he breathes the question into her ear. He doesn’t want her to be unhappy… but he’s not willing to lose this opportunity with John either. _Please love him_ , he finds himself pleading silently.

“Of course I do, silly,” she answers with an easy smile, having no idea of the turmoil he’s feeling in the moment. “I want him to marry us for _all_ of our sakes.”

Sherlock smiles again, and he thinks it might be his turn to stumble with relief until John’s hand is firm on his back, keeping him steady. It takes Sherlock a second to register that both John’s arms are around him as well as they can be, with Molly pressed between them. A hug. John is hugging Sherlock and Molly. Sherlock takes a deep breath, propping his chin on top of Molly’s head, and hugs both of them right back, just taking it in – the perfect triad that Molly has arranged for them.

He’s so happy he doesn’t even care that he’s going to be the boring, responsibility-bound “head husband.”


End file.
